Mrs Jamie Watson Holmes
by QueenRexKenobi124
Summary: Fem!John and Johnlock. Sherlock is injured and the NSY team are baffled when a woman shows up claiming to be his wife... Pre-Study in Pink
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is only my second Sherlock fic and it has the NSY team, Johnlock and Fem!John. Inspired by **Judging a Book by its Cover **by **InkinmyHeartandonthePage**. Sherlock is injured and the team are baffled when a woman shows up claiming to be his wife... Pre-Study in Pink**

**Apologies for excessive use of italics and messed-up POV. **

**Disclaimer: It's all mine. Right, guys? Hey, why are locking me in this room!? At least it's got cool, springy walls...**

Lestrade dragged a weary hand over drooping eyes as the harsh hospital lights attacked his retinas, piercing them with unwanted rays, as he sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair outside of small room, the need to _do_ something warring with his crushing fatigue. It had been a very long day. Sorrow and fear washed through him as he beheld the room's sole occupant. Sherlock lay pale against the sheets in the peace-less sleep of sedatives, the humming and beeping of machine around him the only lullaby. It reminded Lestrade uncomfortably of the times when Sherlock's search for quiet from his own mind, the search for silence, for the ultimate high went too far, and all he found was weeks in hospital; it was only by pure stubbornness that the genius clung to life.

But this time the torment was not self-inflicted. The murder of a homeless child had drawn a block for the police, so Sherlock had been called in. It had become personal for Sherlock then, as he had known the poor boy from his Homeless Network, and so when he had found a breakthrough he had not waited for Lestrade. The Consulting-Detective was found in time for the murderer to be caught, but not soon enough to prevent the scuffle between the two men. It had been brutal and dirty, both combatants suffering injuries, until it suddenly ended when the murderer found a knife. Sherlock was in the process of bleeding out when the Detective Inspector had arrived, his great black coat and pool of blood spreading around him as his life slipped away.

That had been three days ago. Lestrade had spent the first day waiting in the hospital, praying, hoping that the genius would pull through as doctors and nurses worked over him for hours, putting him back together. When he came out of surgery, the older man hadn't left his side until Donovan had forced him to go home and get some sleep. He had reluctantly done so and then had been at the station for the last fourteen hours, making sure that the murderer would definitely be convicted, both for killing the child and for attacking Sherlock. Afterwards he had come to stand vigil by the Detective's bed and was rewarded when he'd awoken briefly and had promptly rattled off a list of his deductions that led him to identifying the killer. Lestrade had only just managed to write the helpful data down before he was bustled out of the room by agitated nurses.

"Hey, Boss. You alright?" He looked up to Donovan's anxious face.

His voice was hoarse, and he had to cough before speaking, "Yeah, fine. What are you doing here?"

"We brought you some coffee." That was when he noticed Anderson, standing further back and holding a tray of three Styrofoam cups of coffee. Their boss nodded his thanks and took the proffered cup. The pair dithered, not knowing what to do. Finally they made a decision and both of them sat down to his right. They sat together in silence for a while until they were distracted by a commotion down the corridor. It sounded like a nurse was having an argument with someone. The mystery person was not shouting but the noise still carried down the corridor.

"I need to get in there!"

"I'm sorry, Madam, but you can't visit someone in intensive care without ID!" The nurse was also growing irate.

Considering he had nothing to do and he _was_ a police officer, Lestrade levered himself out of his chair and walked briskly down the corridor. Pulling out his New Scotland Yard ID badge, he approached the two women and spoke gently.

"Excuse me, is there a problem?"

"Yes!" said the taller of the two, her annoyance clear as she turned towards him. She was quite tall for a woman, about 5"9, her blond hair pulled back in a neat French-plait away from her pretty face. "I need to see my husband; he was injured a few days ago." It was then that the police detective noticed she was wearing tan combats. "Please." She begged, more softly this time.

Her distress was obvious, so Lestrade looked at the nurse. "I'll vouch for her and I'll stay with her." It was better than waiting for Sherlock's sedatives to wear off, and this way he could give someone some happiness. "What room is your husband in?"

"307."

Lestrade frowned, that was the room Sherlock was in. "I'm sorry, but you must be mistaken."

The lady shook her head and pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket. "No, it definitely says 307 here."

Lestrade was confused. "I know the man in that room and he's not married."

"What's his name?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"Please, just his first name."

"Fine. He's called Sherlock." Thinking this would reveal the woman's mistake, Lestrade was shocked to see recognition in the woman's face. "How do you know him?"

"For God's sake! We're married! How many times will I have to say that?"

"I'm sorry Mrs..."

"Jamie Watson-Holmes. Now, can I see Sherlock?"  
"Umm, I don't see why not." Leading Jamie back to his fellow officers, he heard her choke back a sob as she caught a glimpse of Sherlock through the glass of the door. Sally stood up when he approached.

"Who's this, sir?"

"Well, umm, this is Mrs Holmes. Mrs Holmes, this is Sergeant Donovan."

"What! The Freak got himself a wife!?" Sally's disbelief was obvious as she turned to speak to Mrs Holmes. "Where have you been then, he's been here for three days? Hate him that much, '_Mrs_ Holmes'?"

"I'm half-way through my second tour of Afghanistan. I was only authorised leave yesterday and have been travelling since then," said Jamie, eyes flashing, her voice dangerously soft. "And it's _Captain_ Jamie Watson-Holmes MD, thank you very much. Now, can I see my _husband_?"

Without waiting for an answer she pushed past the officers. Just before she reached the door she turned back to Donovan and the venom in her voice was clear, every word laced with a threat.

"Oh, and Sergeant Donovan, if you ever call Sherlock a freak or try totell me I don't love him again, I _will_ hit you, and I have black belts in judo and karate, plus army training to draw on. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Sally's quick temper was riled and she drew herself up, no doubt to deliver a torrent of exactly what she thought of the Captain, when they were interrupted by a weak voice from the room's occupant.

"Jamie?"

"Oh my God, Sherlock!" Jamie rushed into the room but slowed down as she reached the bed. Sitting down on the bed-side chair, she took his hand gently and asked him,

"Do you need anything? Water?"

"Water would be good, thank you." Sherlock's voice was stronger now, the rest having refreshed him. Jamie looked around and grabbed the cup of water on the bedside table and helped her husband sit up, pressing the cup to his parched lips. It was an oddly touching scene-Jamie helping Sherlock and the man actually accepting assistance. In all the time Lestrade had known the man he hadn't accepted help from anyone, not even in his rehab stages.

Now that he'd had a drink, Sherlock turned his attention to Jamie.

"Come here," he said affectionately, pulling on Jamie's hand until she was seated on the edge of his bed. "Thank you for coming. I missed you."

"I missed you too," assured Jamie, leaning in and kissing him, one hand cupping his face. Her husband snaked an arm around her waist and deepened the kiss. It was a few minutes later that Jamie broke away, and Sherlock pouted. He pulled her back down for another kiss but was slapped lightly on the shoulder.

"No," laughed Jamie. "You've only just woken up and I know you. We'd end up breaking several public decency laws and there are several police officers outside."

A quick glance from the man recognized them. "Oh, you've met Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson then."

"Didn't know Anderson's name but yes, I've met them."

Sherlock chuckled, "I heard your 'meeting' with Donovan."

"Well you know how much I hate that word," Mrs Holmes said, her brow creasing as she frowned gently.

Sherlock looked at her like she was the only thing on earth, his face full of disbelief at the fact that this wonderful woman was _his_. "God, I love you."

Donovan's strangled gasp at the sociopath uttering such a declaration didn't drown out the reply from Jamie.

"I love you too, my awful, rude genius."


	2. Role Reversal

**A/N: Hiya, guys, sorry this has taken so long to arrive. My laptop's charger died and at the time that was where my only copy of this chapter was. Grrr, if it wasn't for homework I'd finished this before that even became a problem... **

**Anyway, I think this is going to remain a two-shot, but if anyone would like to prompt I'll try my best to continue this. : D **

**Disclaimer: Yup, still not mine...*sob***

It had been a few months since it had been revealed to New Scotland Yard that Sherlock was married and everything had returned to normal. Well, nearly. Sherlock was still his imperious self, striding onto crime scenes with his coat swirling around him dramatically, scathing insults for Donovan and Anderson always on the tip of his tongue. The two police officers would respond in kind, giving as good as they got, and Lestrade would berate them and try to control Sherlock enough to get information out of him in logical leaps and connections to evidence. But there was one difference. While the officers and Sherlock decided not to mention Jamie by mutual avoidance of the subject, Sally never again called Sherlock a Freak. Oh, she had plenty of other words to use, but it seemed that the threat uttered by a woman over 3000 miles away had changed her mind about that word.

The next time that anyone heard of Mrs Holmes was when Sherlock refused a case. It didn't seem that important at the time as Lestrade didn't really need assistance but was worried about the amount of mischief a bored Sherlock could get up to. It was only the next day when Lestrade received a bombardment of texts, all from Sherlock, and all with one theme; bored!

_I am extremely bored. Have urgent need for a case. SH_

_Lestrade, do you have any cases? SH _

_I'll even take a boring murder that even Anderson could solve. SH_

_Anything at all . Even a robbery or kidnapping will do. SH _

_Fine, ignore me. I will find alternative activities. SH_

_I'll conduct an experiment involving every single left sock you own. SH _

_And acid. Copious amounts of acid. SH_

Knowing that it took at least two days between cases for Sherlock to get this antsy, Lestrade realised he couldn't have been on a private case the night before. Stumped as to what else could've prevented Sherlock's involvement in the murder investigation, Lestrade decided to ask him. The next time Sherlock sat in his office, trawling through cold case files, the Detective raised the subject.

"Well, if you must know I was waiting for Jamie's Skype call. We can only talk for one night a month and it's sometimes unreliable so we didn't talk at all last month. Now, I need to see the mother's blood test..." Sherlock had answered tersely and then was straight back into his perusal of the files.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH SHSHSHSH

It was about the same amount of time later again and Sherlock had been asked to help out on a case that had left the police baffled. A torso and head was found next to a pair of legs. However, the dismembered body parts were discovered to have come from different people and their only lead was a series of cryptic clues scrawled across the walls of the crime scene-a locked public toilet. Sherlock was excited that the case was so interesting, but surprisingly he also showed some tact by saying that, as the wounds weren't inflicted post-mortem he felt sorry for the painful deaths the victims had suffered. For Sherlock, that was the equivalent of breaking down into tears over a stranger's corpse. He was slowly becoming a better man; one day he would become the good man Lestrade knew he could be.

However, it wasn't that day just quite yet, and Sherlock's sudden burst of empathy didn't prevent him from answering his phone irritably after it rung out in the silence of the crime scene.

"What, Mycroft? I'm busy," he snapped into the phone.

Suddenly, all the colour seemed to drain out of the Consulting Detective's already alabaster face, and his voice quavered.

"Wh-what?...Where? I'm coming now." He jabbed at the disconnect button on his phone and turned on his heel, throwing an errant comment over his shoulder as he left about footballers and that they needed to look for buttons at the crime scene. Despite being utterly confused, Lestrade knew by now to listen when Sherlock said something, for even though it may seem random, everything mentioned by the genius could be the difference between finding the perp or not. But at the moment it was Sherlock himself that worried the DI. Very few things could rattle him enough for his reaction; in fact, Lestrade had never seen something affect him that badly.

Over the course of the day, Lestrade sent Sherlock numerous texts, asking for assistance with the case. Knowing how much the genius hated sentiment he thought it better to hide his concerns behind the case, hoping the veneer would allow his inquiries to receive an answer. It didn't. All the DI got was an empty inbox and a growing headache.

When he finally received a text from Sherlock, Lestrade almost cried in relief. However, all the text said was,

_Come to St Bart's, room 184. SH _

Sighing in exasperation, the silver-haired man wrapped up at the crime scene and then took the tedious car journey through the rush-hour traffic. When he arrived at the hospital he had to wade through crowds of weeping relatives, drunks with minor injuries and a few really bizarre incidents (_I mean, really, who gets a toothbrush stuck up their nose?)_ before he reached the right room.

To his surprise he saw two people in the room, or more correctly, on the bed when he opened the door. Sherlock's dark curls were unmistakable and Lestrade quickly glanced at the bed's other occupant and dismissed them, the DI only dropping her a quick, "Hello," before turning his attention to Sherlock. "We identified the other victim, a certain William Blake and you were right, he's a reserve player for Totteningham Hotspurs football team."

"Well, have you searched for any connections between the two victims? Previous meetings, mutual acquaintances?"

"Yes," sighed Lestrade, exasperated. "We're not _entirely_ useless without you, you know."

"You might not be maybe, but...Actually if you were stupid enough to have Anderson on your team, then I am very surprised you have any brains left to solve crimes..."

"Sherlock," admonished Jamie quietly.

For it was Jamie in the bed as well, paler and tired-looking but still recognisable because no one else was allowed near to the tall man. She was leaning against her husband's shoulder and had a sling immobilising her left arm.

"Oh, uh, sorry, Mrs Holmes. Are you alright?" Greg mentally slapped himself even as he spoke. Look where you are, and see if she's bloody alright!

She smiled wryly, as if guessing his thoughts. "I'm doing okay."

"Umm, well, I wanted to borrow Sherlock, but I can see that's not an option now."

"No, it's not," said the man in question.

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Sure it is. Look, they've got me trapped here, I'm fine and I'm not going anywhere. Anyway, you'll get bored soon. Go solve crimes, Mr Consulting Detective."

"Spending time with you is never boring," grumbled Sherlock, but started to move off the bed. "And what's this about you being 'trapped'. You always tell me off when I say things such as that."

"Well, you know what they say about doctors being the worst patients," she teased, lowering the bed with the remote. Picking up his discarded coat from the unused visitors-chair, Sherlock smoothed back Jamie's hair and kissed her softly, gazing into her eyes. After nearly a minute, Greg cleared his throat quietly and the two broke out of their trance. Blushing slightly at his distraction Sherlock swept out of the room imperiously, leaving Jamie smiling slightly on the bed.

Lestrade nodded to her, preparing to leave the room, when her voice stopped him.

"Thank you for putting up with him," she said. "He needs this you know, 'the Work'. His brain..." she shook her head, "Well, it's amazing but also a curse as well; so many thoughts, deductions flying around his head the entire time."

The DI found himself smiling as well. "You're welcome." His good mood remained for the rest of the day, the knowledge that someone cared for Sherlock, that there was someone he would let help him, keeping a smile bubbling below the surface. It seems there really is someone for everyone.

**A/N da second: Hope you guys enjoyed this and I would just like to say- 5 reviews, 11 alerts and 23 favourites! Eeek, thank you all so much!**


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